


Kinslayer

by sunkelles



Series: Requiem for Reigns [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Episode: s04e06 A Servant of Two Masters, Gen, Implied Relationships, Revenge, victorious villain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:34:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during episode 4.06, a Servant of Two Masters. This follows a drastically different plot line. In other words, Morgana knows that Merlin is Emrys when she takes him captive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinslayer

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been reading A Song of Fire and Ice, and of course read Jaime Lannister’s title: The Kingslayer. This made me think of kinslayer, and of course that made me think of an angered Morgana and a (SPOILERS FOR THIS FIC) dead Merlin.

Arthur runs a hand over his cloak. If Merlin were here, then he wouldn’t have to gather his own clothes for this expedition. Then again, if Merlin were here, he wouldn’t be having this expedition at all. The king needs not send out search parties if people close to him don’t get themselves captured. Arthur wishes that Merlin would be more careful. He hears the door to his chambers open, and Elyan staggers in.

“Sire," Elyan says, his voice grave and shaking, "I think you ought to see this."   
Arthur looks to him, “what is it?” 

  
“Sire, I don’t know how to tell you-” Elyan’s voice breaks here. Arthur sees something out the window in the corner of his eye. There’s a congregation of people gathered around what appears to be a man’s body.   
“No-” Arthur says.   
“I’m sorry,” Elyan says.   
“It can’t be- it can’t be him,” Arthur says, “who would want to kill Merlin?’

“It’s not him,” he says, in hopes that speaking it will somehow make it true. Arthur walks out of his rooms.

Arthur strides down the castle steps, a flicker of hope in his heart. It can’t be Merlin, honestly, there is no conceivable situation where that body is Merlin’s. Who would want to kill Merlin, and why would they return his body?   
He enters the courtyard, the harsh sunlight of midday assaulting his eyes. He glimpses the scene in the corner of his eye, but it comes like a punch in the gut. Gaius- Gwen- Gwaine, all weeping over the corpse, clothed in nothing but a tattered neckerchief.   
“Merlin-” escapes his lips before it’s bidden. He isn’t sure what it is, a plea, a prayer, an apology, but it can’t be withdrawn now. Gaius sends him a look with his tear filled eyes, he can’t tell if it’s an apology or blame or what. He just knows that he can feel his throat constricting and his thoughts have dissolved to include just one: Merlin.

"Who," he demands, "who- who did this."   
“We don’t know, sire,” Gaius says, the words strained in his throat. He shifts Merlin’s corpse, displaying his bare back, where something has been carved. Arthur grasps for Merlin’s corpse, demanding to know who desecrated it, and how.   
Across his pale skin is carved “Kinslayer”.   
Arthur lets out a scream, “This tells me nothing!”   
“We don’t know what they meant by it,” Gwen says, “we- we just know-” and her sobs cut off the rest of her words. Merlin’s corpse lies in Gaius’ arms, his eyelids boring into Arthur in a way that Merlin’s living eyes never have.

 

Arthur’s thoughts reduce to a litany of one: Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. If the body were someone else, he would be thinking of burial arrangements but he can’t. This is Merlin, Merlin’s death. This is the death of everything.

His throat burns, and he feels the tears streaking across his face.

 

_Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin_

His hands dig into Merlin’s hair as noises escape his mouth.

 

_Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin_

__A laugh breaks the nigh silence his company has afforded his mourning. It’s harsh and feminine, born more from spite more than humor.

He hears the word leave his lips: _Morgana_. It comes out as a snarl, low and animalistic. This prompts only another fit of laughter. He looks up, his vision blurred from the tears. He does not see her.

A cloud of mist appears near them. It takes the form of a woman, a smirking, _terrible_ woman.

“Hello, brother,” she drawls with that ever-present smirk tugging at her lips, “It looks like you’ve found my little gift.” She laughs as if they were simply bantering again, as if Merlin weren’t dead in his arms.

“You killed him,” Arthur grits out.

“How observant,” Morgana says, “Nothing gets past you.” The world melts to Merlin’s corpse, Arthur, and Morgana.

“He never did anything to you,” Arthur says, “Merlin was always a friend to you.”

Morgana laughs, as though the idea were preposterous, “Merlin tried to kill me.”

“With reason, I’d assume,” Arthur bites back. He stands and faces her, almost like it was in the old days. But Morgana is made of mist and Merlin’s blood is caked on Arthur’s hands.

“Didn’t you read my message, brother,” she says, spitting the title like a curse.

She smirks, “You did, didn’t you. Don’t you wonder what it meant?” Arthur glares. He feels his hand grasp for his sword, though it is not there and Morgana is only mist.

“He was a wizard, Arthur,” she says a smile so wide that he would almost believe the words made her happy, if it weren’t for her dead eyes.

He stops and thinks,  “Merlin, a wizard? He had thought of it before, but it didn’t make sense. Magic was evil, and Merlin was not evil. Merlin was his idiot servant. Merlin was his friend. Merlin was everything that was _good._

“You’re lying,” Arthur says.

“He was the _most_ powerful wizard!” she says, laughing hysterically, “ _Emrys_ washed your socks! Oh yes.” She rolls her eyes.

She puts on a high tone, trying to mocking something that’s been said to her, “he is your destiny, and he is your doom.”

“He is dead, Callieach,” she says, more to herself than anyone else, “ _Emrys_ is dead. Oh yes. I killed him with my own two hands and carved a title only he could deserve into his back.”

She glares at him and her next few words she spits like poison, “Dirty traitor: _kinslayer._ He killed his own kind for you. He betrayed his own race.”

Arthur has never seen Morgana look so disgusted before.

“He didn’t deserve to keep drawing breath,” she says triumphant.

“You’re lying!” Arthur shouts. He will not hear these lies spread about Merlin, not from Morgana. She is the traitor. Merlin is- Merlin was the most loyal man he has ever known.  
  


Morgana rolls her eyes, “believe what you want, brother. But I will tell you this. Without Emrys, you are doomed to fail in your destiny. With no magical defenses, your kingdom is ripe for the picking. Camelot will fall to me.”

She looks him straight in the eye and says, “And _dear_ brother, there is nothing you can do but watch.” She smirks as she vanishes, as though the battle is already won. Merlin is still cold in his arms, so this might as well be the case. Arthur feels himself crumble.

* * *

He trains with his knights. He prepares for war, but he does little else. Arthur finds little value in life without Merlin. He and Gwen do not speak. With Merlin dead and Morgana his murderer, their romance does not seem so important anymore. The pact they formed at Ealdor is completely broken now. Arthur is still determined to keep the kingdom safe from Morgana, but he has no idea how she will go about attacking. Camelot feels safe and well-defended. It’s outside that is dangerous. Outside the walls is where Merlin died.

* * *

 It is only a few weeks after Merlin’s death when the walls are breached. Or does one use a different verb when armies enter from tunnels? Arthur doesn’t know. He simply knows that men appear from every crevice, ready to duel him. He knows that they are Morgana’s, and he now knows that there has been a traitor within his court. Tens of her men lie dead at his feet when Morgana finally graces him with her presence, she and Agravaine.

He can now add his uncle to the long list of traitors- the ones who are worse than dead.

“Hello again, brother,” she says. Her gown is black and tattered, but that does not detract from the deranged smirk on her face. Agravaine stands beside her as if he belongs there.

“Traitor,” Arthur spits. Agravaine grins at him as if this were what he was looking forward to all along. It probably has been.

Morgana strides up to him and unsheathes a dagger, the one that Arthur gave her for her birthday. Just another cruel irony their lives have given them.

Arthur is aware that he should be drawing his sword, that he should be fighting back, but the fight seems to have fled from him. Her dagger slides through his armor as if it were made of water, some sort of spell, and the blinding pain courses through his chest. He can see the crimson liquid splash through his armor. He can feel the world start to leave him.

“Brother,” she says, a wicked smile curling on her lips, “welcome to the end of your world.”


End file.
